Dial an Arbor

One hundred Bronx trees can speak
along the Grand Concourse. She wants to believe
they’ll speak

without the drink, will be interactive, won’t tumble
into monologues
with the arrogance to think

they are so different. She’s going to continue
to listen for them through light
rain and substantial winds. The stories they will tell.

Vox Teardrop

For Steve

Taken from the vault,
it gets warbled, deeper, slurred
when the batteries inside begin to rot
and seep. Recorded

on the west bank
of the Saint Croix River before I knew
what that meant, our conversation
was my monologue—became yours—then

it just stopped.